


as if the sun were shining in your hand

by amilynholdo



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/F, m+m go to aunt jo's soirée because i decided so, marilla deals with anne's growth and her own, muriel does too really, symbolic uses of electricity and thematic uses of emily dickinson's work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amilynholdo/pseuds/amilynholdo
Summary: Anne has left for college, and Marilla and Muriel start meeting for tea once a week. One day, Marilla gets an invite to Charlottetown.
Relationships: Marilla Cuthbert/Muriel Stacy
Comments: 63
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, i have this whole thing written already, and it's just over 20k. i'll be posting it in chapters just so i don't just dump all of that on here at once, but it will probably only take about a week for it all to be completely posted. so, if you're the kind of person that prefers reading things all at once, just hold on for a couple days.

Marilla always knew life would be different with Anne off to college. She cannot say she was prepared for it, though, not really. One never is, in these occasions. The work on the farm doesn’t change that much, she and Matthew can still manage, with Jerry’s help, at least at this time of the year. That may change when the harvest comes next summer, but she can’t tell yet. During the day sometimes she can even forget Anne isn’t around. The child spent most of her time at school anyway, so it doesn’t really change much.

It’s at meals that Marilla feels her girl’s absence the most, and she can tell Matthew does too. The first week or two, they barely speak a word between the two of them. It’s strange now to think that this used to be their life for decades, and neither of them minded, not knowing otherwise. Now that she knows life with Anne, Marilla minds very much. So, she makes a habit of taking initiative, committing to lead the conversation when she can, even though it’s not in her nature to do so, because it’s what Anne would want her to do. At first, she offers her brother (and herself, if she is honest) some low hanging fruits, easy topics that she hopes won’t prove too much of a challenge. She asks him about his vegetables, and she tells him about the horses, and she questions him on whether she should try a pie recipe Rachel gave her in spite of how much sugar it calls for. Soon, he starts making his own offers, commenting on something Anne said in her latest letter, or asking her opinion on his plans to renovate the barn. They never quite become brilliant conversationalists, but they learn how to hold their own against the silence, and Marilla is proud of that.

After a while, they even start entertaining visits. Sebastian comes often with little Delphine, sometimes even convincing his mother to come along, although she refuses to stay for meals. One time, Mrs Barry somehow decided to accept Marilla’s invite for tea, which, in all honesty, she had only extended to be polite, counting on the other woman to refuse. Turns out, Diana’s mother hasn’t been hearing as much from her daughter as Marilla has from Anne, so she comes over with the intention to apprehensively fish information out of Marilla. Still, it’s good to know she can entertain company which isn’t Rachel.

Marilla often finds herself wondering whether she could get away with asking Miss Stacy to visit. They haven’t seen much of each other since Anne has left. There’s no reason they should, really. They know each other because of Anne, and now she’s gone there would be no point in seeing each other at all. Marilla has to remind herself this more often than expected. She knows it to be untrue, or at least she wishes it to be, but she doesn’t know how else to act. They cross paths in town sometimes, like they did that time Muriel found her with Delphine. There was no Anne-related reason for them to spend time together then, Marilla knows, but she suspects on that day the schoolteacher only indulged her out of kindness. In no way does that necessarily translate to her being interested in Marilla’s company.

So, Marilla just silently waves at Muriel from afar when she sees her in a shop or in church, then, every time, she inevitably regrets not walking up to her and inviting her over.

* * *

The new schoolyear is much calmer, without last year’s chaotic cohort. One might say more boring, but Muriel is going to stick with calmer. For one, none of her current students have caused any town-wide scandals yet, so that’s reassuring. It feels like she finally has the space to properly settle into the space she’s inhabited for almost two years now. She gets to know the youngest kids, only just starting school, and their families seem much less resistant to her presence than some where last year. She spends time among the people in her community. She goes into town and talks to the older people, the ones with children too old for Muriel to have taught them, the ones she never got a chance to meet.

Fall comes to the island in all its golden beauty, and Muriel allows herself to live day by day. She visits Bash sometimes, and plays with Delphine. The more she does, the more she realises she has no wish for babies of her own, she is satisfied with her school. She must admit it is nice to play with a younger kid for some time, without having to abide by the rules of what a teacher must act like. On the other hand, it is also nice to be able to leave the baby at the end of the day, to go home to a good book, and read it entirely undisturbed.

Bash mentions the Cuthberts very often. It would seem Anne and Gilbert have finally figured out their feelings for each other, so Muriel supposes it makes sense for their families to spend time together. When Bash speaks of them, Muriel finds herself wishing she could join them. She reckons she doesn’t have much of an excuse now that Anne is away. She misses talking to Marilla in particular, with a sharpness she doesn’t recognise. She had gotten used to spending morsels of time around the other woman, mostly to do with Anne, but they did talk about things entirely unrelated to Marilla’s child. Muriel misses those moments the most.

The most she sees of Marilla now is at church. The other woman is always the first to wave at her across the aisle. Muriel finds the gesture reassuring, and it becomes their weekly ritual. She never was one to attend church every single Sunday. Not as much for lack of belief, as for lack of time. She finds the time now. She stays up late on Saturdays if she has to, and makes sure she has no work left for the next day. On Sundays she wakes up earlier than usual, and yet she barely feels the lack of sleep. She takes time wearing her best clothes, does her hair up with much more care than usual. And in her moments of purest honesty, she’s able to admit to herself that it’s all for the few shining seconds she gets to see Marilla.

But she is eager and she is hungry for more, so today she breaks the ritual. As the rest of the worshippers leave the church, Muriel spots Marilla on her own. For once, her brother seems to have foregone coming, and Rachel is on the other side of the church, busy showing off her youngest daughter, who has just come back to town with her new husband. Marilla is standing in silence, waiting for the small crowd to move out of the church, looking around with awkward acuteness, a bird in a cage far too small for its windspan. Muriel feels the moment start to slip away, and she choses to hold tight to it. She makes her way among the people, and soon she’s close enough for Marilla to notice her. They smile at each other. Now is the time.

‘Hello,’ says Muriel. It falls out of her mouth like a perfect round pearl, and she doesn’t event try to stop it rolling.

‘Hello,’ she hears Marilla reply.

Muriel glances down at her necktie, to check it isn’t crooked. For a few moments she doesn’t dare look up, and then she does, and Marilla’s lips are upturned ever so slightly. The sun filters in from a window and it nudges Muriel forward.

‘I was wondering,’ asks Muriel, ‘if you would like to join me for tea tomorrow.’

Marilla’s reply comes in an instant, but it is such a long instant.

‘I would love to,’ she says. It is short and definitive, like most things out of her mouth. No room for doubt. Muriel’s heart can slow down, she can take in a little more air with each breath.

‘Lovely!’ she says, al little more pep in her voice, and a little less worry.

‘Lovely,’ Marilla smiles back at her, almost out of the Church already.

* * *

Marilla stands in front of the door to Muriel’s house for a long time. A ridiculous amount of time for a perfectly capable, grown woman to be standing in front of a friend’s house unable to bring herself to knock. Absolutely ridiculous. Yet here she is. She doesn’t think she’s ever acted in such a silly way since she was a girl. And even then, she had more important things on her mind than pacing around other people’s front yards.

She reaches to the back of her head, and gently pats her hair to check that it is in place. On any other day, she would never need to check. After all these years she knows exactly what it feels like when her bun is sitting obediently, just like she knows where it pulls and where it softens when it is misbehaving. Today, though, this different style she tried, softer and looser, feels entirely foreign, and she has no way of knowing what it’s doing. What a silly thought it was, changing her hair for a simple tea. Now she is uncomfortable, and for no reason other than vanity. Vanity does not become a woman her age, she thinks.

Yet, she can’t stop herself looking for a window, just to see if she can catch her reflection. Not for long, just a moment. Just to make sure everything is in place and she doesn’t look an absolute mess. Just for the sake of looking presentable. Just a peek. Just to check–

Oh. As she finds her reflection on the window pane, she catches a movement of the pretty lace curtain behind it. It’s only the smallest of stirrings, but Marilla knows curtains don’t move of their own volition. Not behind closed windows, not on an entirely breezeless day. There must have been someone behind it, and only one person lives in this house. Which means Muriel Stacy has definitely seen her stand at her front door unable to knock, looking like a perfect imbecile.

Marilla feels a panic spread from her guts to the rest of her body, quickly reaching her feet and turning her away from the door, ready to flee and pretend this never happened. As she takes her first step, the door opens, revealing Muriel’s peculiarly flushed face.

‘Marilla! Welcome!’ she says, giving no mention to the window incident. Marilla is glad at least she is spared that.

‘Thank you.’

She follows the schoolteacher into the house, which is bright as ever, and every piece of furniture seems to hold a secret smile. The tightness in Marilla’s lungs leaves her as Muriel shows her to a at big table in the kitchen. She stands next to it, still unsure what to do, until Muriel tells her to take a seat. There is no fancy tablecloth on the table, leaving the grain of the wood exposed. It is a mesmerising pattern, entirely different from any wooden furniture Marilla’s ever seen before, and very distinctively Muriel’s taste. She wants to say this out loud, but then decides against it. Complimenting the grain of someone’s furnishings does not exactly communicate casual and nonchalant demeanour.

Instead, she talks about the weather.

‘Such a lovely day for a nice walk.’

Not the most brilliant conversation starter, but it will have to do.

‘Oh, it is _absolutely_ lovely!’ replies Muriel, her voice enthusiastic as usual as she sets a teapot on the table, and a cup in front of each of them. Marilla observes her pour the tea and put two whole sugar cubes in her own cup. Marilla breaks half of one cube into hers.

‘Are you going to have the other half?’ asks Muriel.

Marilla shakes her head in reply.

‘I might take it then!’ says the other woman, reaching across the corner of the table to take it from the saucer under Marilla’s cup. They are not sitting across from each other but along the two sides of the same corner.

The image of the woman in front of her, plopping half a sugar cube into her tea as if she hadn’t just had two, or rather, as if two whole ones weren’t sweet enough, brings a smile to Marilla’s lips.

‘Is something funny?’ asks Muriel from her place at the table, a bit too close for proper etiquette.

Thankfully, it is clearly said only in jest, with no upset. Still, Marilla becomes aware that she’s being observed.

‘Nothing,’ she replies in a milder tone than she expected to come out, ‘I just would have thought two cubes was plenty of sugar already.’

‘I have just spent several hours in the company of twenty quite unruly children. Trust me, two sugar cubes is barely enough,’ Muriel justifies herself. ‘Especially if you expect me to conduct a coherent conversation.’

‘Coherence,’ scoffs Marilla in mock-scorn. ‘Entirely overrated.’

Muriel laughs at that, a proper, out-loud, bright laugh, at which Marilla feels a secret pride.

The conversation turns out to be more than coherent. It is brilliant. It’s not ceremonious, in fact, it is barely polite at points. But it is true and it is honest, and it feels different than talking to anybody else. For perhaps the first time in her life, Marilla feels like stringing sentence after sentence together is not a labour, but a joy. She is the champion of her own thoughts, and Muriel is playing along so effortlessly. Everything she’s saying becomes important when Muriel is listening to it. No, even more than important: precious.

And Muriel… well, Muriel goes on and on for entire minutes when she gets talking about a topic she’s passionate about, and there is nary a topic she isn’t passionate about. Marilla would sit and listen for hours, and she probably has. It is almost dark outside, and what’s left of the tea in the pot has long gone cold. Marilla knows she should get going before dark, but her body is heavy on the chair and doesn’t want to get up. Muriel has been going on about how varied the fungi that can be found in the area are, and it makes Marilla feel at home in a similar way as Anne’s ramblings did. Yet, not at all in the same way.

Marilla realises they have not for one second spoken of Anne. It hits her with the cold force of the first breath of fall night air when she steps outside of Muriel’s house. It’s not that the girl is not always at the back of Marilla’s mind. She is, she has been since she left. It’s that, for all these months of not seeing Muriel, the excuse Marilla has been feeding herself was always that the only reason they ever spoke in the first place was Anne. Well, it seems that was never the case. What a discovery.

They say their goodbyes at the door, and Marilla keeps glancing back as she walks away. Each time she does, she finds Muriel there, still looking at her. The door only closes when Marilla is about to reach a turn of the path that will bring her out of Muriel’s eyesight. It is then that Marilla reaches another realisation. Earlier, when Muriel saw her through the window, Marilla got carried away in her own embarrassment, ashamed to have been caught worrying too much, expecting too much. But, in order to catch her, Muriel must have been peeking out of her window. And one does not peek out of their window unless one, too, is worrying too much, expecting too much.

* * *

Marilla coming over for tea becomes a Monday afternoon tradition. She comes in the chilly October evenings, and she comes under the freezing December snow. She usually brings a basket full of beautiful baked goods, still warm from the oven. They eat some with the piping hot tea, and then Marilla always insists Muriel keeps the rest. It usually lasts a whole week.

Marilla always leaves far too late, and Muriel knows she should encourage her to make her way home when the sun’s faint warmth and light have not faded yet. Each time, though, she can’t find it in herself to wish her to leave.

One afternoon at the end of the year, the daylight almost at its shortest, Marilla steps out of the snow and into Muriel’s house holding a letter in her hand.

‘Hello,’ Muriel greets her with a smile as Marilla takes her gloves off. ‘What’s that?’ She points at the letter with her chin.

‘Letter from Anne,’ replies Marilla, as she hangs Muriel her coat to hang next to her own.

They have long set aside the polite formality of greeting each other with niceties. Muriel loves this efficient dance they have learnt to get into every time Marilla arrives. Yes, it is a necessity in the winter months, to get Marilla out of the cold and comfortable in her house as quickly as possible. But the way they do it, wordlessly and in synch, gets to Muriel’s heart every time.

Marilla sets the letter on the table and sits at her usual place, no longer awaiting permission from Muriel like she did the first few times. Muriel serves the tea, takes her own usual seat, closer to the other woman than is necessary, and asks ‘What’s in the letter?’

Marilla takes the piece of paper out of its envelope and hands it to Muriel, but gives her no time to actually read it before she starts explaining.

‘Anne wants me and Matthew to join her in Charlottetown in two weeks. She was invited to spend the weekend at Miss Barry’s, Diana’s aunt, on the occasion of a… soirée.’ Marilla pronounces the last word like it comes as a perplexing surprise.

This is all lovely information, but Muriel is curious to know exactly why Marilla brought the letter to her.

‘Are you going?’ she asks.

‘Possibly,’ responds Marilla, with a vagueness in her tone that Muriel is unused to. ‘Matthew isn’t coming. Officially because he cannot leave the farm alone for three days.’

She raises an eyebrow as she finishes the sentence, a message for Muriel to understand. Muriel does understand it, and she nods knowingly. She can’t imagine Matthew Cuthbert would be particularly elated at the idea of attending a fancy reception at a rich lady’s mansion in Charlottetown. Barn dances are one thing, but this sounds very much out of Matthew’s wheelhouse.

‘To be frank with you,’ continues Marilla. ‘I’d rather not go either. But the child really cares about this, the Lord knows why. It’s an annual thing, and this will be Anne’s third time going.’

Muriel smiles when she hears Marilla call Anne _“the child”_ still.

‘So I wrote to Anne about not wanting to come on my own,’ Marilla finishes, ‘and she sent this back.’

Finally, Muriel gets enough time to read what the letter says. She skims through the body of it without absorbing its contents, mostly for respect for the Cuthberts’ privacy, but also because Marilla is staring at her in silent expectation behind her cup of tea as she does so, and she doesn’t want to make her wait. She can’t seem to find what Marilla is referring to on the front side of the paper, filled with enthusiastic ramblings about university life, but as she turns it to the other side, she spots a post-scriptum that seems to be what Marilla wanted her to read. She does so out loud.

_"P.S.: Marilla, I’d be so happy if you came to Miss Barry’s, even without Matthew. Perhaps you could bring someone else with you. I do love it very much to hear about your time with Miss Stacy in all of your letters, maybe you could ask her?"_

Muriel glances up to Marilla as she reads about being mentioned in _all_ of her letters to Anne. The other woman appears particularly concentrated on swirling the spoon around her teacup, and, for some reason, Muriel thinks she can spy a blush on her cheeks.

With her gaze sill on the tea, Marilla finishes: ‘So yes, I suppose if you wanted to come with me you’d be welcome to.’

‘Yes! I would love to!’ exclaims Muriel, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic. ‘I’d love a chance to see Anne of course, and I’ve never properly visited Charlottetown,’ she adds, trying to sound more casual. She’s not sure why she cares so much about sounding casual, but she does. She cares so, so much.

Marilla is looking her in the face now, seemingly reassured.

‘Of course.’

‘Of course.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly shorter chapter tonight, lads, but i've just figured out how to divide the rest of this and they will all be slightly longer than this from now on.

They have agreed to meet at the station half an hour early, not wanting to risk missing the last train of the day. Marilla arrives even earlier. Matthew drove the carriage there, and said goodbye with his curt gentleness, then turned around and back to Green Gables. Marilla made sure to leave plenty of food for him to cook for himself, and just hopes for the best.

By the time Muriel arrives, she has been standing at the platform for twenty minutes, according to the station clock. Admittedly, only half of those minutes were due to Muriel’s actual lateness. Still. When the schoolteacher appears, a carpet bag in hand, she looks like she’s been chased by a wolf in the snowy woods. Her hat is in her other hand, by which Marilla assumes she forgot to secure it with a hat pin, and strands of her hair are escaping her usual updo. Her skirt is wet at the hem, like she’s been walking in the snow.

‘Marilla! I’m so sorry!’ she pants, approaching Marilla. ‘I was supposed to ride my motorized bicycle here, but I couldn’t get it started in the snow, and it was too late to walk here on the streets, so I had to cut through a field!’

Marilla knows she should be irritated, and indeed she was until a few seconds ago. But now the woman in front of her is trying and failing to blow a wisp of hair off her own face with a very intent expression, and Marilla has no choice but letting go of any anger.

The train arrives a few minutes earlier than scheduled, and they have the time to board without hurry. They take seats opposite each other, next to the window, in second class. Muriel places both of their luggage on the rack over her own head. Her own large, soft, multicoloured carpet bag flops against Marilla’s sensibly sized, sensibly coloured, and sensibly un-floppy leather suitcase, which makes Marilla smile.

Soon, they’re travelling fast enough that the frozen countryside becomes a bit of a blur, until they reach the brightness of the blue sea, perfect and unblurred even by the fastest speeds. Muriel tells Marilla about the past week at school, with a special Friday afternoon exhaustion that she never shows on Mondays, but always with a smile on her lips. When she is done telling her, they are greeted by a silence full of comfort. It is a new development, something Marilla cannot remember ever happening in their Monday chats. It’s not at all unpleasant.

The sun sets, and the light coming through the window dims more and more with each mile travelled. When Marilla looks away from the dark, fading view, she notices her companion has fallen asleep. Her hair is still tussled, and her mouth ever so slightly agape. For a split instant, it makes Marilla wonder if she looks like this in the morning. She shakes the image off as soon as it comes. What a silly thought. Still, a strange fondness rises to her chest, and she has to look away. She only wakes Muriel up when they arrive to Charlottetown.

* * *

Muriel has no memory of Charlottetown. Sure, she must have seen it in passing when she first moved to Avonlea. She is certain this is where her ferry landed, and where she got on the train to her new life. Yet, the station seems entirely unfamiliar, and the streets even more so. It may just be the darkness.

Outside the station, they find a tall, sombre-looking man waiting next to a carriage. Marilla introduces the man as Rollings, Miss Barry’s butler. They step into the carriage, and it all feels so luxurious to Muriel, after two years of modest life in Avonlea, only ever walking places, or riding her bicycle, or, at best, being offered rides on open carriages, made for farming. This carriage is not open. It is covered, warm and comfortable, the fabric on the seats so fine that Muriel worries she’ll ruin it with her train-worn clothes. She looks across at Marilla, who seems to catch her awe, and sends her a knowing smile.

Not long after, the carriage stops in front of a mansion, with light coming out of too many windows, far too big for Muriel to take in. Electric light, if Muriel’s eyes aren’t betraying her. It’s not that Muriel hasn’t seen electric light before; it was the very thing that marked her difference when she first arrived in Avonlea. It’s not even that she has never seen a house this big, because she has. She’s seen houses so much bigger than this, townhouses in American cities, and palazzos in old Europe, with a grandeur that even the biggest house in Charlottetown cannot dream of.

It’s not the size of the house, or its modernity, that take Muriel’s breath. It’s how different this looks to her, now that she’s used to her little cottage. Places like this used to thrill her, she used to imagine herself living here. When she was young, really young, younger even than she was when she travelled with her husband, Muriel used to picture another life for herself, one where she was born richer, and could afford to become a semi-recluse novelist, living alone in a house like this, only meeting people once a week, when she would host a renowned literary salon. She soon let go of that dream, and it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, because life with her husband had given her so much more that that imaginary existence could have.

Now that Jonah is gone, and she finds herself confronted with a house like this for the first time since, she wonders whether she should revisit her childhood reverie. But it holds no appeal to her now. When she daydreams – and she still daydreams more often than a woman her age should be proud to admit – she pictures a life very close to the one she has now. She pictures Avonlea, her school thriving, generations of students growing into kind, enlightened adults. She pictures her little cottage, the nature around it, the seasons changing. She pictures Green Gables, perhaps in too much detail. Being there more often than she has a reason to, saying hello to Matthew’s kind smile on the way in, then spending time with Marilla. A lot of time. For years and years, until Marilla’s hair has gone completely white, and her own is also greyer, and both of their hands are weathered by time. She imagines being there when Anne visits, getting to see her become a smart, accomplished, generous woman she is meant to be. No, there are no lonely mansions in her daydreams now.

She shakes herself out of these thoughts as they are led into the house by Rollings. She goes in first, and Marilla follows, only a couple of steps behind her. The house is cosier than it looks from the outside, furnished in elegant dark woods, but not at all cold-looking. They are greeted by a small lady in a beautiful green dress. She looks stronger than her frame would suggest, and even if Muriel wasn’t meeting her in her own house, she thinks she would have recognised her from Anne’s stories. Her assumption is confirmed when the lady steps toward her and she introduces herself as Josephine Barry, then she turns to Marilla and she greets her as if they’d known each other their whole lives, when Muriel knows for a fact they have only met once before.

They get shown to their rooms on the second floor, two guest rooms that share the wall between them. Marilla waves her a wordless, almost unsure goodbye as they each retire behind separate doors to get ready for dinner. It doesn’t take Muriel much to unpack the few belongings she brought with her. Her bag is wide, but almost empty. After all, they are only going to spend three nights here. She isn’t sure whether she is expected to change for dinner, but she does feel grimy after an afternoon of travels, so she quickly changes into a clean blouse, and picks a nice burgundy necktie to wear with it. She fixes her hair as well as she can.

When she walks back downstairs, Marilla is already in the parlour, somehow having managed not only to change into a dress, one Muriel has only seen her wear to church until today, but also to fashion her hair into a different style, the one she has sometimes taken to wearing to Muriel’s house on Mondays. The woman’s efficiency will never fail to astound Muriel.

Behind both Marilla and Miss Barry, Muriel spots a mane of red hair, collected into one long braid rather than the usual two plaits. Attached to it, of course, is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. As soon as the girl sees her former teacher, she launches herself towards Muriel, and swings her arms around her frame. The joyous cry of ‘Miss Stacy!’ that leaves Anne’s mouth is loud enough to resonate in the entire house, if not the entire neighbourhood.

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert!’ admonishes her Marilla, with very little determination in her voice, like she has already accepted this as a lost cause, ‘Will you please show your teacher the respect she deserves?’

‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’ responds Muriel, parroting the phrase that she has so often heard from Marilla. ‘If this is what lack of respect looks like, I will happily take it.’

Marilla makes a peculiar face: she’s raising her eyebrow like she often does in disapproval, but it’s filled with all love and no malice.

As Anne releases Muriel from her hug, Muriel keeps one hand on the girl’s shoulder.

‘Hello Anne,’ she says, and a smile forms on her lips, ‘Let me look at you.’

The girl steps away from Muriel, and performs one single, extremely dramatic twirl. If it wasn’t for her fiery hair and the unmistakable wide smile under all those freckles, Muriel thinks, she might not recognise this young woman if they crossed paths on the street. Very little is left of the girl with the haphazardly chopped hair she met on her first day as Avonlea’s schoolteacher. There is something different in the way she comports herself. All of her youthful enthusiasm is still there, but it is met by something different in her eyes, a self-awareness Muriel has never seen before.

‘Do you like my vest, Miss Stacy?’

Anne is, indeed, wearing a vest, of a much finer material than the ones that populate Muriel’s wardrobe, but somehow more ill-fitting. Yet, it seems from the way she is showing it off, the garment _was_ intended as a homage to Muriel.

‘Cole lent it to me especially for your visit!’

Anne gestures at the lanky boy standing behind her, who Muriel recognises from the few times they’ve met. That explains the beautiful fabric, considering the boy is Miss Barry’s ward, and the strange fit, seen as, however taller Anne has gotten, Cole still has several inches on her. The boy takes an awkward bow, like Muriel is royalty visiting from some exotic land. It looks entirely out of place, and so endearing.

Just as Muriel is about to say hello to Cole, and thank Miss Barry once more for her hospitality, Rollings arrives to usher them towards dinner.

* * *

On the way to the dining room, Marilla’s eye can’t help but wander inside an open door at the end of the corridor. She can see a sliver of what looks like a reception hall, or a ballroom, impressively wide even for a house this big. Over it, hangs a crystal chandelier, of the kind Marilla has read about but never seen, not even in the Barry residence in Avonlea. It is of astounding dimensions, and it must weigh an unfathomable amount, yet it looks so delicate. Marilla imagines what a pain it must have been in the past to light every single candle on it, when it still had candles on it. Now, of course, Miss Barry’s house is entirely lit by electricity, and a flip of a single switch can turn every one of the tens (hundreds?) of lights on and off on a whim.

Marilla’s mind travels to that day in Muriel’s class, when she first saw her in her natural environment, imparting knowledge onto hungry young minds. Some of them more hungry for the potatoes on her desk than for the knowledge itself, of course, but still. Muriel had seemed to her in that moment like a creature from a distant land no human had ever set foot on, let alone Marilla Cuthbert. The way she taught was entirely different from anything Marilla had ever witnessed, not in Anne’s time at school, and certainly not in her own.

The electric wire of that memory, of the intrigue she felt in that moment, takes her to another memory. In the town hall, when Muriel stood up for herself, and Marilla first felt the warmth in her chest she is now used to whenever she is in the same room as Muriel Stacy. She remembers her so proud, and unsure, and unrelenting, with everyone against her. Well, everyone but her students, who had shown up with lights that in Marilla’s memory appear brighter than Miss Barry’s chandelier. Lead by Anne, of course. When _isn’t_ _it_ Anne, leading these things?

‘Marilla!’ gently calls out to her Muriel, the last one of their party still waiting for her outside of the dining room.

Marilla is shaken out of her musings, and she follows Muriel inside the room. As they walk in, Muriel is whispering something to her, one of those clever quips of hers, and Marilla smiles absentmindedly. She turns around to notice Miss Barry looking at her with a raised eyebrow, then looking away like nothing happened. Probably because nothing did, Marilla thinks, and she forgets about the look.

Rollings serves the first course, a light soup. There is discomfort in accepting hospitality, especially of this level. Marilla doesn’t think she has ever had dinner served to her in quite this much pomp, and not knowing how to behave disturbs her more than she cares to admit. But in this moment, as she observes Anne talk to Muriel across the impossibly long table, she thinks she would go through ten times the discomfort to see this. One phrase comes to mind, Anne’s favourite: kindred spirits.

‘Miss Stacy, how utterly elating to see you again! My heart has missed you ever so much!’ Anne exclaims.

It is nice to hear the fanciful language of her childhood, under the patina of mature refinedness. Marilla used to think the pride she felt the first time she saw Anne all grown up, in this very house, would quieten down with each time she saw her. She was so wrong.

‘So lovely to see you too, Anne,’ replies the teacher, ‘And Cole, of course,’ she smiles at the boy. ‘And may I thank you again, Miss Barry, for your hospitality.’

Miss Barry waves away the deference with a subdued gesture of her hand. ‘It is a pleasure to finally meet you.], Miss Stacy. I don’t think you realise quite how often our Anne here speaks of you. Or how highly.’

Muriel’s complexion reddens a shade as she looks down in humility, subtly enough that anyone unfamiliar with her face might not notice. Marilla notices.

‘What are your plans before the party tomorrow, Miss Stacy?’ asks Anne with her usual curiosity.

‘I’m not sure,’ admits Muriel, ‘I was counting on Marilla to show me around town.’ She turns to Marilla, as if to ask permission. ‘If you would like that of course.’

Marilla nods and smiles. ‘I would love that.’

She holds Muriel’s gaze for an instant, then goes back to her soup.

‘Oh, and Anne…’ Muriel speaks to the girl, stumbling on a thought, ‘…I’m thinking perhaps, if it is alright with your mother, you could call me Muriel, now that I no longer teach you.’

Anne turns to her, waiting for the permission Muriel set as a condition. Marilla cannot bring herself to speak. Her thoughts are stopped by the words _“your mother”_ resonating in her mind in Muriel’s voice. She simply nods.

The look of expectation on Anne’s face turns into a look of unbridled joy.

‘Oh, I would be so honoured…’ the girl stops, as if preparing to say the name, unfamiliar to her. Then, with renewed confidence, she throws herself into it: ‘…Muriel.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i gave Muriel a carpet bag just to make her look even more like Gay Mary Poppins. although, who am i kidding, Gay Mary Poppins is just regular Mary Poppins.
> 
> anyway, thanks again for reading this, and once again, comments are very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Muriel wakes up refreshed and full of energy, like she hasn’t woken up all winter. Usually, she struggles with the short days, and waking up before the sun itself does feels impossible. Today, she is easily up before dawn, and what a luck it is, for her room’s window faces east, and she gets to see the winter sun rise over Charlottetown and colour the city warm. It is breath-taking. She wishes Marilla was in the same room so she could show her. Hopefully she’s seen it anyway.

Once that incredible show is over, she gets dressed for the day. It might be too early to show up downstairs, but if Muriel knows the woman in the room next to her, she is likely to have been up and ready for the day for hours now. So, guided by boredom, she decides to knock on her door, knowing she has never once been bored in the presence of Marilla Cuthbert.

‘Yes?’ Marilla’s voice comes through the threshold.

‘It’s me,’ simply says Muriel, keeping her words short and quiet in fear of waking anyone. She hopes Marilla understands who ‘me’ is.

‘Come in!’ Clearly, she does understand.

Muriel pushes the perfectly polished brass door handle, careful not to make any noise, steps into the room, and closes the door behind her just as carefully.

As expected, Marilla is almost entirely prepared for the day. She is dressed already, but, surprisingly, she is still in the process of doing her hair up. She is sitting at a vanity opposite her window, brushing her hair. In front of her she has prepared a small metal box, unadorned, filled with her pins. It looks well used and entirely practical, so at odds with the beautifully decorated table it is set on. It reminds Muriel of Green Gables, and how everything there looks a little more real than anywhere else.

Marilla doesn’t say anything, and Muriel allows herself to rest her back against the door and observe her confident, repetitive movements in silence. She looks more relaxed than Muriel has ever seen her, and Muriel wishes she could see her in the morning more often. With no haste, Marilla starts gathering her hair into its usual low chignon. It does look a bit softer, slightly more unrestrained. When she appears to be satisfied with it, she closes the metal box, gets up to set it down on her bedside table and finally faces Muriel.

‘How may I help you?’ she asks.

Muriel simply shrugs, herself unsure of why she is here.

‘Is there something I could offer you?’ Marilla tries again, as if she were in her own kitchen and not a guest bedroom, miles from home.

‘Company, maybe.’

Marilla nods. ‘Very well,’ she says. And then: ‘Please, sit down,’ as if she expected Muriel to have already done so.

The only chair in the room is the one in front of the vanity, so she takes a seat there, and Marilla on the bed, perched there like a curious bird. Marilla takes something out of the drawer in her bedside table, another tin case barely larger than the one her hair pins are in. There is a single stocking laid out on her bed, and Marilla takes it into her hand. As she opens the case, Muriel understands it is some sort of sewing kit. Then, another box appears, longer and narrower. Marilla takes out a small pair of glasses and places on top of her nose.

‘I tore my stocking last Sunday, so I’m going to do some mending if that’s no problem.’ Marilla explains, matter-of-factly. Leave it to this woman to bring mending to do on a fancy trip to the big town.

‘No problem at all,’ reassures Muriel.

For a few moments, she just looks at her companion. She thinks the glasses suit her, but the other woman seemed self-conscious about them when she put them on, so Muriel chooses not to mention them. She decides she has done quite enough staring to last her for the whole day, and she should find something to occupy herself.

There is a shelf filled with books next to the mirror, like there is in Muriel’s room. She suspects there might be one in each room, as if some inhabitant of the house had run out of space in their library. Strange, because, on her way back to her bedroom last night, Muriel has been able to spy beyond an open door to what looked like a personal library. It seemed like a big enough room, filled with more books than some people see in their lifetime. Anyway, Muriel reaches out to the shelf and grabs the volume whose spine most attracts her.

It is a beautifully bound tome, of a quiet green hue, with gold-leaf flowers imprinted on its front. The front cover simply says: ‘Poems’. And, lower: ‘Emily Dickinson’. The name rings a bell. Muriel has a vague memory of reading about this poet in a literary journal, a couple of years ago. The article was absolutely cruel to the poet’s writings. It had been written by a man, of course. But Muriel remembers liking the single excerpt included in the article.

She opens the book. It must be pretty new, published no more than a few years ago. She finds a date on the inside. 1890. The page opposite that is free of printed words, but there is an inscription, in elegant handwriting. ‘To Gertie,’ and, under, ‘yours forever, Jo’. It is nothing strange, there is no reason why those five words should sound unusual. Yet, Muriel feels like she is intruding on something that is not hers to read.

Quickly, she flips to book open, to land on any other page. The book seems to choose where to open itself of its own volition. Muriel instantly sees why: a flower has been pressed on this particular page, wedging itself in the infinitesimal space between the two sheets of paper. Its blue colour is faded but its shape has left a perfect imprint on the paper. The ghost of the flower splays itself across a poem. Muriel reads it.

_To see her is a Picture -_

_To hear her is a Tune -_

_To know her an Intemperance_

_As innocent as June -_

_To know her not - Affliction -_

_To own her for a Friend_

_A warmth as near as if the Sun_

_Were shining in your Hand._

Instinctively, Muriel’s eyes travel back to Marilla. It’s probably just the mention of the Sun. The light is still low enough that it is entering directly from the window, and landing on Marilla’s lap, where her hands are moving swiftly at work. She has beautiful hands, Muriel finds herself thinking, made ever more graceful by the marks of time.

Right. No more staring. Back to the book. She reads a few more poems and the are… beautiful. Not like anything Muriel has ever read. She shall try to get a copy once they’re back in Avonlea. Perhaps she’ll ask Miss Barry where she got hers.

She doesn’t know how much time passes. She doesn’t read every single poem in the book, she wants to save some unread, to return to in the future. So, she closes the book and, in an attempt not to go back to the silent staring, she tries to strike up a conversation on the first topic that comes to mind.

‘Could you see the sunrise out of your window?’ Muriel asks.

‘I couldn’t miss it if I tried,’ answers Marilla.

She sounds like the beautiful rosy light was some sort of inconvenience. She sounds utterly like herself, and Muriel chuckles at that.

‘What?’ Marilla interrogates her, looking up from her almost-completed work, gaze over her glasses.

‘Nothing. It was nice, the sunrise. Seeing it gave me joy, so I hoped you were seeing it too.’

Marilla’s face softens. She looks like she is about to say something in response. It hangs between them for a moment, unsaid, but then Marilla shakes her head ever so subtly, and puts the stocking down.

‘It’s almost eight.’

Muriel doesn’t understand, and it clearly shows on her face, because Marilla explains: ‘Rollings said breakfast will be served at eight.’

‘Oh. True. Right.’

She gets up, and slips the book back into the gap it has left on the shelf.

‘We better go, then.’

* * *

They walk down the stairs together. The only person already at the table is Miss Barry, who looks at them like she knows something they don’t. Or maybe it’s just Marilla’s impression. They say their good mornings, and Miss Barry recommends that ‘Since it’s such a delightfully bright morning, you two should follow through with your plans of exploring the town. I’m sure you’ll find a walk in this weather very refreshing…’

A response comes from outside the room, accompanied by two pairs of young feet coming down the stairs: ‘Why don’t you go out walking in the cold, then, Aunt Jo? Too old?’

It is Cole’s affectionate voice, followed suit by his smiling face, and Anne’s, making their entrance into the room. The first thing the boy does as he comes in is go up to his guardian, and place a light kiss on the top of her perfectly coiffed grey hair. Then he sits down next to her, and starts pouring himself some tea without waiting for permission. Marilla is amazed at how little the lady of the house seems to care about the boy’s behaviour. They act awfully familiar around each other, not at all like a mere guardian and ward, more like they’re related by blood. Then, again, Marilla knows a thing or two about strong bonds without blood relation.

‘Anne, dear,’ says Miss Barry in an amused tone to the girl, who is sitting on the other side of her, ‘Do you see how your friend here treats me?’ Then, in mock disappointment, shaking her head for show, she adds: ‘Incorrigible. For your information, young man, this old lady has _already_ been out walking in the cold, and would go again if she didn’t have an entire soirée to plan.’

Oh. The soirée. In the perfect quiet of the time she spent upstairs with Muriel, Marilla had almost forgot about the reason they came here in the first place. Now she feels her nerves stir at the prospect, and she must admit she is more than a little anxious. Still, she is not about to waste a perfectly good sunny morning inside because she is nervous about what the evening will bring. From the look on her friend’s eyes, Marilla can tell she sees it the same way.

* * *

They leave the house thoroughly bundled up, not only in their coats, but also in some large scarves Miss Barry had Rollings bring them before they left. Muriel doesn’t think she has ever worn wool this thick and soft.

‘Alright,’ declares Marilla in a determined tone, ‘Off we go.’

As it turns out, Marilla does know her way around the city. When Muriel says so out loud, she replies that ‘It’s what will happen when one lives at Green Gables, and coming to Charlottetown once every year or too is the biggest excitement in their life.’

‘Isn’t that a tad unfair?’ Muriel rebuts, ‘To Green Gables and to Charlottetown?’ And to yourself, Muriel adds in her mind.

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ responds Marilla nonplussed. Then, she changes the topic to the history of the particular street they’re on, on which apparently some of the oldest buildings on the island can be found.

The town is busy with people moving around with a particular Saturday morning relaxedness: children running after each other, or out on walks with mothers and nannies, young girls walking in gaggles, elegant (and less elegant) carriages in the streets, men pretending that whatever it is that they’re talking about is of the utmost importance, pairs of women on leisurely strolls, their arms linked. The latter seem to serve as inspiration to Marilla, who soon joins her right arm with Muriel’s left.

The sudden proximity, and the warmth they’re now sharing in the cold morning, cause Muriel’s cheeks to flush. She can feel them heating up almost instantly. A strange exhilaration overcomes her, and she soon discovers that she is feeling an excitement not dissimilar to the one she used to experience every time she used to travel to a new place. Charlottetown may not sound as dazzling as one of the big capitals, or as adventurous as forests and deserts, but Muriel is just as curious to see it.

They turn onto a street that is lined with shops, some quite ordinary-looking, some fancier. They stop in front of some of the shop windows, mostly to chuckle at some of the things people are willing to buy nowadays, but, every once in a while, they do see something they genuinely like.

There is one shop – or _atelier_ , according to the sign – that Marilla stands outside of looking unsure. In the shop window, Muriel can see two beautiful dresses, a refined day-to-day garment in a pale blush colour, and a dazzling evening gown, in a deep green. If Muriel knows Marilla, though, it’s not the beauty of the dresses that is having an effect on her.

‘Everything alright?’ asks Muriel.

‘Yes. Yes.’ Marilla nods with reassuring decisiveness. ‘I’ve just… Avoided this shop for a while. A long while. Thinking I was doing Matthew a favour. You see, the owner is an old friend and she… Anyway. Anne came, and made a mess of it, and then she fixed it all as usual.’ She stops for a moment. ‘I think I’d like to see Jeanie,’ she concludes.

Muriel assumes this Jeanie is the old friend that owns the _atelier_. She doesn’t see why she should deny her friend that.

‘We can go in if you want.’

‘Fiddlesticks!’ Marilla furrows her brow. ‘You don’t want to stand there and listen to two old women who haven’t seen each other in more than thirty years.’

Muriel would have a thing or two to say about that _‘old’,_ but she lets it slip for once. She truly wouldn’t mind going in with Marilla, but she senses that this is about more than ‘two old ladies’ reconnecting, so she relents.

‘Alright. How about you go in, I go and have a look around town on my own, and then I meet you here when you’re finished?’

She can see Marilla considering the offer, clearly objecting to the idea of leaving Muriel alone, but not saying anything.

‘I will be alright.’ Muriel adds. ‘How much time do you think you’ll need?’

Marilla’s expression relaxes, conceding to the idea.

‘No more than half an hour,’ she replies, having regained her no-nonsense attitude.

‘Brilliant. I’ll be waiting here in half an hour.’

Marilla nods her head. As she pushes the shop’s door open, she turns back to Muriel and lets out a ‘thank you’.

Muriel stands there a few seconds more, just to ensure she isn’t needed, then starts strolling aimlessly around the street. She doesn’t want to wander off too far, in case something goes wrong and Marilla comes out of Jeanie’s earlier. So, she just paces the same two hundred yards or so, up the street and then down again. After a few minutes, she has memorised everything on her route: bakery, tobacconist’s, morning-drunk men outside a bar, lamppost, hat shop, barbershop, haberdashery, jewellery, another lamppost, toy shop, old lady sitting outside non-descript shop window, chemist’s, butcher’s. After the butcher, at the third lamppost, she turns around: butcher’s, chemist’s, old lady, toy shop, lamppost, jewellery –

She stops in front of the jewellery. Among all the glitz and glimmer, something catches her eye, in the bottom left corner of the shop window. It is a bar pin, to be worn at the collar of a lady’s blouse or dress. A little thing, not particularly big or flashy. Just a small blue stone, set in delicate and intricate silver, or what looks like silver. The stone has a shine unlike anything else in the window, it looks just like the crystals in Anne’s little den in the woods did years ago, one of the first times she ever met Marilla.

Muriel doesn’t know what overcomes her, but, entirely on a whim, she grabs her late husband’s old wallet that she carries in her pocket, she enters the shop, and a few minutes later she leaves with a small satin purse in her other pocket, and the pin inside it.

She checks her old pocket watch, and realises she should have been outside Jeanie’s two whole minutes ago. She rushes down the street, and luckily she reaches the shop right in time for the door to open with Marilla behind it. She dusts herself off in an instant before the other woman sees her, determined to look like she was here on time.

She’s not sure why she cares so much that the other woman doesn’t think she was late. She’s even less sure what she is doing with a silver pin in her pocket. It’s just that she finds she wants to give Marilla things, like a little boy bringing flowers to the girl he likes. Well. She bought the pin now, and it’s almost noon, time to go back to Miss Barry’s. There’s no chance she can bring it back at this point, not without Marilla noticing. Might as well give it to her, then.

‘There you are!’ she smiles at Marilla when the other woman sees her on the sidewalk.

Marilla smiles back. ‘How was your exploring?’

‘Excellent! I come back to you a changed woman, having made some thrilling findings!’ she says, as if she was returning on Antarctica, and not just on a walk down the street.

‘Really?’ replies Marilla, amused. ‘And what would these findings be, precisely?’

Muriel breathes deep, and reaches into her pocket. She places the tiny blue satin bag in Marilla’s hand.

‘What’s this?’ Marilla asks, confused.

Muriel shrugs. ‘It’s for you.’

Marilla’s brows stay knotted, but she takes the bag and looks inside it. The moment she understands what’s inside, without taking the contents out, she ties the bag shut.

‘Oh, I…’ She starts, then stops, then starts again. ‘Thank you very much, but I couldn’t possibly accept this.’

‘Why not?’

‘How can I–’ she seems to be thinking of reasons why she shouldn’t. ‘It must have been very expensive.’

Muriel starts involuntarily swaying back and forward ever so slightly, fingers clasped behind her back, so that Marilla cannot put the gift back in her hands.

‘Let me worry about that. Besides, it was less than you’d think.’ She raises her shoulders. ‘It’s not that precious.’

Marilla’s expression softens instantly. ‘Oh, but it is.’

Muriel smiles a little wider. ‘Will you keep it?’

Marilla nods a ‘thank you’ as she slips the bag into her pocket, and starts walking them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i did in fact research what emily dickinson first editions looked like for this   
> (me putting the poem in: *ladybird meme voice* IT'S THE TITULAR ROLE!!)
> 
> anyway. thanks once again for reading! and im very grateful for you kind comments, they mean a lot


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as they’re back from their walk, Rollings informs them that the guests who have chosen to stay overnight have already arrived. From the way he speaks, it sounds like he’s referring to several people, yet Marilla doesn’t see anyone around the house. She wonders if that is because they have all been enlisted for preparations. This being their first time at the soirée, Miss Barry has effectively banned both her and Muriel from the reception hall, not wanting to spoil the surprise. Nonetheless, from Miss Barry and the youngsters’ absence at lunch, Marilla has gotten the impression that the work going on inside the room is quite intense.

It is just her and Muriel, and Rollings serves them sandwiches in the parlour. The same sandwiches, apparently, that Miss Barry demanded be served in the ballroom to those practically locked in there, in order to have a light lunch without interrupting the decorating. It seems a bit silly, not emerging even for lunch, but Marilla can tell everyone’s really invested in the night’s success. Well. She grabs a sandwich with two hands, and hopes she doesn’t look too foolish eating it.

Muriel doesn’t seem in any way perplexed by the peculiar form this meal has taken, and is attacking the sandwiches with gusto. Between bites, she chats of all the places today’s trip reminded her of. Marilla is fascinated by her words, and even more by her ability to talk at this rate while eating, all the while never outright crossing the line of decency by talking with her mouth full. It takes the precision of a circus act, really, the same ability of an acrobat jumping through a ring of fire. Although, as an act, it would only succeed in the world’s most boring circus, with an enthralled audience of only one member: Marilla Cuthbert.

As Rollings takes away their empty plates, he insists that they each retire to their rooms, for the preparations are almost finished in the ballroom, and Miss Barry’s helpers plan to move on to decorating the entrance and the parlour soon. He suggests they take advantage of this time to try and get some rest before what promises to be a long night.

Marilla tries lying down for a while, but it doesn’t prove particularly fruitful. Too much light sneaks into the room from the wide windows, even with the curtains completely drawn. Besides, never in her life has she spent time in bed during the day, unless she was too sick to get up. In her mind, lying in bed any time the sun is up does not conjure a sense of relaxation, only images of a woman whose face looks too much like her own. At the thought of her mother, the soft sheets of Egyptian cotton start feeling prickly. She knows it is just her mind’s impression, but she has to get up.

She opens the curtains back up, and lets some light filter in. When she does, she realises the sun, so persistent in the morning, is no longer directly visible from here, already on its way down into the dark. It certainly does not provide enough light to allow her go back to her mending, let alone to disturb her sleep through heavy curtains. There must have been something else. Well. She is up now. She turns the lamp on the bedside table on, never ceasing to be amazed by how simple it is, and picks up her work where she left it off in the morning.

She works fast, too fast for her own good, because soon her stocking is mended and she has nothing left to do. She decides it’s late enough to reasonably allow her to start getting ready. Or at least to get ready for getting ready. She still hasn’t decided what to wear to the party. Not that she has many options, considering the size of her luggage. She takes out the two contenders, and lays them neatly on the bed. They’re both dresses, her nicest ones. One she usually wears in the spring, it’s nice and light, but perhaps a bit too mundane. The small floral pattern doesn’t exactly say ‘night-time elegance’. The other, she hasn’t worn in years. Perhaps decades. To be entirely honest, she isn’t even sure if it would fit her at all. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it, and saved the space in her luggage for something more reasonable.

She takes a step away, to be able to see them both at the same time. As she does, she feels something against her leg in her skirt’s pocket. She takes it out, and for the first time she allows herself to properly look at the pin Muriel gifted her earlier.

* * *

As soon as she comes downstairs for the party, Muriel understands what all the fuss was about. If she didn’t know better, she would guess she’s just walked into the queendom of a summer spirit. The entire ground floor of the house is positively dripping in flowers, and the guests who are already here make up the most colourful crowd Muriel has ever seen in her life. For a moment, she becomes conscious of her own looks.

She is wearing trousers, not her practical brown ones, but a black pair, with a matching black jacket, Jonah’s only surviving eveningwear that she has had fitted to suit her. She hasn’t worn the outfit since before her move to Avonlea, but Anne convinced her it would be acceptable to wear at this particular party, earlier when she came to Muriel’s room to borrow a necktie. Now Muriel sees what she meant. Anne, her usual lively self, is already dancing with her friends, in yellow necktie matching the paper flowers woven through her hair, a perfect image of freedom.

Just as the girl is waving at her across the room, Muriel feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns to find Marilla there, a small smile on her face. She is wearing a dark blue dress, which Muriel doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. Long-sleeved and high-collared, it is not particularly up to the latest trends, but neither is it outdated. It looks like it was fashioned in as simple a cut as possible, to last many years and not be tied to one time’s particular preference in shape. Muriel wonders how long Marilla has been holding on to it, and why she’s never seen her wear it.

Then, when Marilla comes into the light of the big electric chandelier, Muriel sees something shine against the dark fabric. Marilla is wearing her brooch. The sight makes Muriel’s heart dance in her chest. In a split instant, a switch flips in her mind, like an electric lamp turning on to reveal something she could not see before. Muriel’s entire world changes. She knows what this is that she is feeling. She can’t bring herself to name it yet, but she knows. She wonders how could she ever not recognise it.

A second passes.

Then another.

Then Muriel realises that once again she has been holding her gaze on Marilla for far too long for no apparent reason. Well, she knows the reason now, but that doesn’t make it easier to explain. She should speak. She should say something now. Her mind goes blanks, and only one thing emerges, so she says that.

‘You look very elegant.’ Great. Way to be subtle about this.

Marilla looks down at her joined hands.

‘Hardly,’ she replies, ‘Especially among all this extravagance.’

She seems to be looking around. It is true, there are people in much showier fashions. Just with one glance around the room, Muriel can see men in colourful silks, women in tuxedos and top hats, and all kinds of costumes, mostly flower-themed. She spots a lonely flower crown, dangling abandoned from the wooden rail of the staircase. She takes the chance, grabs it and places it on top of Marilla’s head. She has to get on her toes, as she is wearing men’s shoes, and the other woman, already taller, has a bit of a heel on.

‘There you go,’ she says, satisfied with how the blue hues of the paper flowers match Marilla’s eyes, and the stone on her collar pin.

‘Now you’re the loveliest-looking person in the room _and_ you match everyone else’s flowery outfits.’

Unable to take the compliment, Marilla whispers a rushed ‘Thank you’ and avoids Muriel’s gaze by concentrating on observing the party going on around them. Muriel can tell Marilla doesn’t know what to think of the party. The way that the ballroom is bursting with colour is very beautiful, but it does look like it would all be very foreign to Marilla.

Muriel observes her reasoning herself out of her diffidence. No, Marilla Cuthbert will never be counted among the world's most open-minded people. But, if it is true that her mind isn't always fully open, in it there is always, always the slightest space for knowledge to wedge itself into. In the end she always lets herself be won over and is always willing to leave behind the prejudice. Muriel has known this since the day she’s first met her. It is one of the many reasons why she l… One of the many things she likes about her. She can see the steps on Marilla’s face as they happen. Refusal, intrigue, curiosity, acceptance. It takes no longer than a few seconds.

In that time, Muriel makes a decision. The time she’s spent with Marilla in the past few months is too valuable to her, and she wants to continue being around her for as long as she can. If that means protecting their friendship by keeping her feelings to herself, so be it.

* * *

There are mirrors in the ballroom, in the most unexpected places. They’re not easy to notice, among all the flowers. From certain angles, it simply looks like _more_ flowers, in a different room, identical to this one. But then, Marilla walks in front of one and catches a glimpse of her own reflected image. This reveals the other, identical room for what it is: simply a reflection of this one.

The Marilla looking back at her from the mirror looks different than she’s ever seen herself. On any other night, she would have thought she looked foolish, an old lady acting ridiculous for her age. But how can she be ridiculous, when Miss Barry is older than her, and she is the very person that organised this entire thing? And how can she look foolish, when hers is the plainest outfit in the room? Well, apart from the flower crown. She sees herself with it on for the first time and she decides she likes it. Arguably, it makes hers the second plainest outfit, as Muriel is only wearing black and white, and no flowers at all.

Marilla stops for a few more seconds in front of the mirror, and Muriel is looking at her like she grew four heads because of it, clearly unused to seeing Marilla preoccupied with her own looks. But Marilla is no longer paying attention to her image, she is simply trying to extract a single paper flower from the back of her crown without ruining the rest of it. When she succeeds, she holds it out triumphantly for the other woman to take. Muriel just stares at it, confused.

‘For your lapel,’ explains Marilla, and she decides that, seen as the other woman looks unsure what to do with it, she will pin it on her herself.

The flower adds the colour the jacket needed, she thinks, satisfied with her choice. Muriel’s surprised and delighted look emboldens Marilla, and she decides to make the most of this rare moment when the other woman is still speechless.

‘I don’t think I said,’ she starts, and already she feels less courageous, so she pushes the rest of the sentence out before it’s too late, ‘You don’t look half bad yourself.’

Muriel beams at her. Just when she opens her mouth to reply, their attention gets diverted by a young voice calling at them.

In the mirror, Marilla sees a flash of red hair coming towards them, and, in the instant it takes her to turn around, Anne is in front of her. She is followed by Cole, and Diana, who must have arrived earlier today. If the entire soirée looks like it might have come straight out of Anne’s most fanciful dreams, the girl herself looks like she could be the queen of this flower-covered land.

‘Oh Marilla, I have never seen you look more beautiful!’ exclaims the girl, enveloping her in a tight hug. It seems strange to think there was a time when a gesture such as this would have come as a surprise.

When she releases Marilla from the hug, Anne turns to Muriel.

‘And I told you trousers would be perfect for tonight, Miss St– Muriel!’ the girl corrects herself, and smiles a little wider because of it.

‘Thank you, I–’

‘Oh, and you look so good together!’ Once again, Anne interrupts her former teacher. Marilla would admonish her, but tonight she lets it slip. Besides, the contents of what she’s saying preoccupy her more than how she’s saying it.

‘I love that you’re wearing matching flowers,’ points out Cole, ever the keen eye for colour.

‘Miss Marilla,’ Diana adds with her usual poise, ‘what a beautiful brooch you’re wearing!’

‘That matches the flowers too!’ exclaims Anne, with utter delight. Then, Marilla can see a thought dawn on her child’s face with worrying enthusiasm.

Marilla knows her worry is justified when the thought finally comes out, and it is ‘You should dance together!’

‘Nonsense!’ is the only reply Marilla can gather.

Thankfully, Muriel comes to the rescue, articulate as always: ‘I think your mother will decide if and when to dance – with me or with whomever she wants – on her own, Anne.’

( _“Your mother”,_ again.)

Then, to soften the determination she put in her first sentence, Muriel adds: ‘Thank you, though, dear.’

‘But you danced at the fair!’ insists the girl.

‘That was entirely different!’ rebuts Marilla, emboldened by Muriel’s support.

‘How?’ questions Anne.

‘Well, for starters, those were group dances, not…’ Marilla gestures vaguely at the dancers in the room, all paired up in couples.

‘Oh, but it is perfectly normal for women to dance together at Aunt Jo’s party!’ explains Diana, ‘Look!’

The Barry girl curtsies, and Anne, as if they’d rehearsed this, bows, and the two of them dance a couple of waltz turns, staying close to Marilla and Muriel.

Then, still dancing, speaking a bit louder over the music, and amidst her own laughter, Anne turns her head to Marilla, and adds: ‘You don’t _have_ to dance, but it _is_ terribly fun!’

With that, a couple more twirls lead the two girls, with Cole in tow, into the dancing crowd, and away from the adults.

‘See you later!’ Marilla hears Anne shout, already lost to her gaze.

She looks at Muriel, who’s looking back at her. Neither of them says anything. As if on cue, the music changes. The lively waltz turns into a slower melody. It feels more manageable, like Marilla could actually dance to this with no previous rehearsal. The fact that she’s even considering whether or not she could do this opens her up to a revelation: she actually does want to dance. She wants to dance with Muriel.

Before this moment of bravado abandons her, she holds out her hand. ‘May I?’

Muriel takes her hand, but makes no further move. ‘We don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ she echoes Anne’s words, but with a different gravity. She is talking seriously, brows slightly furrowed.

‘I want to.’

The very moment Marilla says that, Muriel’s face opens up, beaming at her.

Without further words, Marilla lets herself be led by Muriel’s hand into the whirlpool of dancing couples.

Soon, Muriel’s free arm wraps around her waist and they start moving in time with the slow rhythm of the music. Marilla’s previous assumption was right: this is nothing like the barn dance. The surprise comes with the discovery that this is not a bad thing. That whole night, at the fair, Marilla was entirely too aware of when and how she would get to be close to Muriel. Holding her hand at some points in the dances, their cheeks almost touching as they had to speak into each other’s ears to understand each other’s words over the music: it had all been an intricate game of orbiting around each other, close, and then far, and then close again, Marilla now realises. What a wealth of joy it is now, to get to dance together, properly together, compared to those crumbs of nearness.

Muriel’s arm holds her a little bit tighter, or maybe it is Marilla who steps a bit closer, she couldn’t be able to tell. They are moving together, her hand on the other woman’s shoulder sending a warmth up to her cheeks, which only gets warmer every time their gazes cross. In spite of the way Muriel’s holding her, Marilla soon realises that she is the one leading. It seems they have found their own peculiar balance, partners only to each other.

They dance to one song, then another, a faster one, getting all the steps wrong, and laughing at it, louder than Marilla remembers ever laughing. Then, a third dance, slow again. Muriel smiles up at her the entire time, and Marilla thinks she knows what a lightbulb feels like when it is lit for the first time. She looks into Muriel’s eyes, and she almost forgets that they’re surrounded by other people. Except she doesn’t forget at all. It makes all the difference, to be dancing with each other, but in front of so many. Normally, Marilla would be preoccupied with what the other guests may think, but for this one time in her life she lets herself feel the thrill of it without much ponderation.

Not that people seem to care that they’re dancing together, nor do they notice how flushed their faces must look, or how close they are to each other. Diana was right. There _is_ a great number of dancing couples made up of two women. What is most unusual about it is that this is apparently not dictated by a lower number of male guests, like it would be in any other occasion Marilla has seen women dance with each other. In fact, it would seem that there are almost as many pairs of men dancing with each other as there are pairs of women. And several people, Marilla notes, whom she wouldn’t be able to place in either category.

Soon, she starts to notice little gestures, light touches, glances held for slightly too long. Two women, whose dancing patterns seem to keep leading them into Marilla’s field of vison, are now resting their heads on each other, one’s face on the other’s collarbone, one’s chin on top of the other’s hair. They are holding each other close, closer even than Muriel and Marilla. Almost like they–

It all makes sense now. Anne’s insistence that they dance together, the comments on their colours matching. “Y _ou look so good together”._ Marilla wouldn’t put it past the girl to have invited them here with the explicit intent of getting them in this situation. She thought Anne had grown past flights of fancy and _“tragical romances_ ”. She thought she’d taught her better than that.

The worst part, she realises as she stops spinning around and steps away from her dance partner, is that Anne’s ridiculous assumptions were right. She _did_ enjoy dancing with Muriel. She _does_ feel stronger than she should for her friend. Her friend, Muriel. Sweet, sweet Muriel, who has been nothing but kind to her, and who is looking at her with crestfallen eyes. Who looks confused, possibly hurt by the sudden interruption to their dances. Who did nothing to deserve being taken advantage of like this.

It all hits Marilla with a violent shock, and she can say nothing except ‘I can’t…’, and she can do nothing except leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright! so, here's the actual soirée bit!   
> please do let me know what you think, I truly love reading the comments <3


	5. Chapter 5

Muriel is back in her room. Alone. The party is still going on downstairs, and she suspects it will continue into the early hours. Oh well. She doesn’t think she’d be able to sleep anyway. Still, the joyful sound of people enjoying themselves downstairs does not help.

She lies on her bed, still dressed for the party, except for her jacket, which she’s tossed on the floor. With her head on the pillow, she feels a hairpin poking at her scalp. She knows she could easily just raise her arm and let her hair down. Physically, there could be nothing easier. Yet, here she is, unmoving, with a pin planted in her head.

Thoughts are coming in and out of her mind, and she is struggling against herself to hold on to one. The memories – the moments that come back to her as images – are the worst ones. All of the things that she did wrong, that she did _too much_ of: held too tight, spoke too many words, smiled too wide. Revealed too much.

But also entirely too little.

She thinks she might actually be able to face the rejection if it had come after some sort of declaration from her. If at least she could say she’d been brave enough to do that. But no, she wasn’t. For all that her actions screamed, her words have never even whispered. She could at least retain some of her pride, if she had found the courage to tell Marilla that she…

That she loves her. No point hiding from it now.

The point is, hiding was the problem in the first place. From Marilla, and from herself. She has made the coward’s choice, and took too long to admit what scared her so much. Perhaps it was the fear of losing Marilla, or even her entire life in Avonlea. She has already lost too much in her life to be unafraid of facing more loss. But now she’s lost her anyway.

Worse: she’s let herself get so much more involved. She’s let their friendship grow into something indispensable, and now she can’t imagine a future for herself that does not include Marilla Cuthbert.

Not only that, but in tricking herself, she’s tricked her friend.

The very friend she claims to love. The very friend who right now, on the other side of this wall, must be so upset.

Or maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s entirely fine, not upset over this, because she is not as invested as Muriel. Of course she isn’t.

Muriel doesn’t know what thought haunts her more: Marilla in pain because of her, or Marilla nor feeling anything for her, not even resentment. Either way, she needs more space between them than just this stupid wall. For her own sake and for Marilla’s. She makes a decision.

She sits up on the bed, and opens each of the two drawers in the bedside table. She does not find what she’s looking for in the first one. So, she tries the second one, and there it is: paper and a pencil.

She starts scribbling something, then scraps it, and starts again. When she’s satisfied with it, she folds the paper in two identical parts. She gets up and walks out into the corridor. In front of the door to Marilla’s room. She wonders if she should knock. Once more, she makes the cowardly choice, and slips the paper under the door. Maybe not cowardly, she thinks once she’s back to the safety of her room. Maybe just hurt.

She starts packing her things into her carpet bag, just chucking clothes in there, not particularly worried whether they’ll get wrinkled. She is soon done, and unsure what to do with herself. She changes out of her soirée attire, and into her softest shirt and favourite trousers. She goes back to lying in bed, eyes open, unable to sleep.

She isn’t sure how much time passes, but the house gets quiet, so it must be early morning. Out of the silence, she hears a knock on her door. She gets up mindlessly, not caring who might see her like this anymore. As soon as she opens the door, Anne storms into her room.

‘Is it true that you’re leaving tomorrow in the morning?’ she asks, no greeting, no nothing.

‘Yes, I am.’ Muriel speaks tiredly, and goes to sit on her bed.

‘But you can’t! You were supposed to stay one more night, and leave with Marilla!’ the girl, still in her floral outfit, keeps moving around the room as she speaks, dropping a couple of paper flowers on the floor from her hairdo, loosened from all the dancing.

‘I’m assuming she showed you my note,’ says Muriel, not bothering to specify who ‘she’ is.

‘She didn’t want to, I swear! I made her!’ replies Anne, protective of Marilla, ‘I went into her room to say goodnight because I couldn’t find her downstairs, and she was… Oh, Muriel, she was so unhappy.’

Oh. So Marilla _is_ hurt. Muriel wishes she’d never wondered which option would be worse, hurt or indifference, because, now that she knows, the guilt in her chest grows so big she thinks it’s going to swallow her whole.

‘And she didn’t want to tell me why,’ continues the girl, ‘and she said it was private, but I found the note on the desk and my eye fell on it, and I didn’t _try_ to read it, I swear I didn’t, it just… happened.’ She stops for a moment, both her words and her pacing, takes a deep breath, then concludes: ‘I’m sorry for reading your private correspondence.’

She’s clearly genuine, like she always is, so she Muriel reassures her: ‘It’s okay, I forgive you.’

Anne looks visibly relieved, and she takes a seat on the bed next to Muriel.

‘Please don’t leave without her.’

‘This has nothing to do with Marilla,’ lies Muriel, ‘As I’m sure you’ve read in my note, I simply decided I need more rest before my work next week.’

Anne looks at her thoroughly unconvinced.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she says, ‘and neither does Marilla, or she wouldn’t be feeling like that.’

Muriel isn’t proud of herself. She looks at her own hand, resting on top of the covers. Anne places a hand on her shoulder, like _she_ is the older adult, and she just _has_ to tell Muriel what to do.

‘I think you should talk to her. I invited you here because I know she cares for you. She mentioned you in every _single_ letter she’s written to me in the past months! If that isn’t the most _romantical_ thing you’ve ever heard…’

Muriel has to stop her. ‘You can’t force feelings, Anne, however _romantical_ you think it may be.’

Anne gets back up, offended. ‘I know that! I learnt that years ago. I am not a child anymore.’ She says that with a mature determination that Muriel has never seen in her. In spite of everything, she feels pride. ‘This is not about forcing feelings,’ continues Anne, some of that previous poise now lost, ‘this is about two people who _do_ have feelings for each other acting… just… utterly foolish!’

Muriel shakes her head.

‘Marilla has made it clear that she cannot… Do this. And can you blame her? First of all, I’m a woman,’

‘But Miss Barry–’ Anne tries to chime in.

‘Let me finish,’ chides Muriel, unsure what Miss Barry has to do with this. ‘At any rate, she does not feel anything other than friendship for me.’

If she does feel friendship at all after this, Muriel adds in her thoughts.

Anne plants a hand firmly onto her forehead in frustration.

‘But she does! I know she does!’

* * *

Marilla wakes up in the morning having slept very little, and very badly. The sunlight coming in from the window feels so much more aggressive than it did yesterday morning, that she draws the curtains back up, and gets ready in the half-darkness.

By the time she walks down to breakfast, every one is already at the table, including… Muriel. For some reason she had not expected the younger woman to be there. She thought she’d be packing, or some other flimsy excuse. She wouldn’t have blamed her. Still, they’re both here now. There’s no way out of this.

Breakfast is an incredibly awkward endeavour. Mostly silent, between her and Muriel doing anything they can to avoid having to look at each other, and the youngsters still half-asleep from all the partying. The other guests have all left, including the few who have slept at the house, so the only coherent person at the table is Miss Barry. To her credit, she does an excellent job of keeping up a semblance of conversation among five half-dead spirits.

Soon, Muriel excuses herself, and leaves the table. Anne and her friends follow suit, probably headed straight back to bed. Miss Barry doesn’t give any sign of wanting to get up from the table, so Marilla is stuck sitting here out of politeness, not wanting to leave her host to finish breakfast alone.

They sit in silence for a moment, cutlery clanging on their plates. Miss Barry takes a sip of her tea, and speaks.

‘I need your help, Marilla. There is something I’m not quite understanding and I think you’ll have the answer…’ she says, cryptically.

‘I can’t promise anything,’ replies Marilla, ‘but I’ll try.’

‘You see, I’m worried about our dear Muriel. I’m sure you’ll agree she didn’t look right today, and as soon as she saw me, she announced she’s taking the first train back to Avonlea. Something is up and I don’t know how to help the poor woman.’

‘Really?’ Marilla plays dumb, ‘I don’t know any more than you about that, I’m afraid.’

‘Is that so?’ asks Miss Josephine, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s a surprise! You two have been joined at the hip since you’ve arrived. Thick as thieves!’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Marilla lies.

Miss Barry looks straight at her, an unavoidable gaze that makes Marilla uncomfortable. The woman always looks like she knows more about you than you know about yourself.

‘Marilla. Please don’t lie to me. You and Muriel have not exchanged a word for the entire duration of this meal. I have seen enough of you two to know that is not normal. What is it? Lovers’ quarrel?’

Marilla struggles to reply, scandalised that Miss Barry would even say something like that aloud. And so carelessly, too.

‘Lovers’ quarrel? No! I– We’re not– No!’

‘Alright,’ concedes Miss Barry, giving the impression that she wasn’t thoroughly convinced by Marilla’s panic, ‘what happened, then?’

Marilla sighs and studies the lacy white hem of the tablecloth. She tries to put this in the least incriminating way possible.

‘We were enjoying your party last night. Well, I won’t speak for her, but I was enjoying it, and she seemed to be too. Anne got us to dance together. That seemed strange at first, but then I found I liked it.’

‘And then?’

‘And then…’ And then what, Marilla thinks. ‘And then I found I was liking it too much.’

‘I see.’ Miss Barry replies earnestly. The amusement she seemed to be feeling until now is gone, and she appears to be talking in all seriousness now. ‘And what, precisely, would _“too much”_ mean?’

Marilla takes a deep breath. She chooses to trust what her gut tells her about Miss Barry, that she would not make a scandal out of this. That she would not be bothered by it at all. Marilla takes a leap of faith.

‘Too much for her. Too much to be simple friendship.’

Miss Barry smiles that all-knowing smile again, and it finally hits Marilla that this was what she knew all along, before Marilla herself did. Every time she has seen that smile now, it had something to do with Muriel.

‘And have you tried asking her how _she_ feels about this _“simple friendship”_?’

Marilla’s body recoils at the mere thought.

‘Oh, I couldn’t!’

‘Why couldn’t you?’

‘I couldn’t do this to her. She trusts me as a _friend_ , and I’ve broken that trust.’ She stops, and an even bigger worry overcomes her. ‘I couldn’t do that to Anne. To risk exposing her to ridicule like that, after all that girl has gone through!’

Miss Barry tuts and shakes her head.

‘Let me tell you something about your Anne,’ she begins in a reassuring tone, ‘It’s a long story so I want you to listen to all of it.’

Marilla, defeated by the woman’s sureness, nods.

‘You may have noticed my soirées tend to attract a somewhat eccentric crowd. I don’t suppose you have stayed until very long last night, or you would have learnt why that is. A few dances in, my friends stopped the music and called for a toast. They do this every year. We toast to Gertrude. My nephew’s family might have mentioned her to you as my companion, sadly deceased three years ago. What they wouldn’t have told you is that Gertrude and I loved each other. Every year, all of her friends, the strays she’s been collecting all her life, come to my party and celebrate her life.’

Marilla listens, and she doesn’t know what to think. The pride in Josephine Barry’s voice as she tells her about this is heart-breaking and healing. Marilla feels no shame anymore when the older woman looks at her like she knows what this feels like.

Still, she’s not sure what this has to do with Anne. Luckily, Miss Barry goes on to explain this.

‘When I first met your girl, I was in the depths of grief. I told her about Gertrude, and she understood. Not only that, she looked up to me for it. For being true to my love. She’s attended my party of mavericks three years in a row now, looking more like she belonged here with every year, loving all of my friends like they’re hers. Some of them have indeed become her friends. And, as you know, I have gained a new member of my family from knowing Anne.’ She stops for a meaningful second. ‘She’s a real free spirit, that girl of yours. I suspect she knew what she was doing when she invited you two here. Do you really think she begrudge her own mother the choice to be happy?’

Marilla is almost convinced, then her thoughts make a step back.

‘It’s not my choice to make,’ she says.

Miss Barry looks exasperated, but she patiently begins another round of persuasion.

‘I have had a long life, Marilla, most of it happy. Most of it, I have spent with my Gertrude. You might be comfortable denying yourself this, but is it only yourself you’re denying? If you feel the way I think you do about Muriel, I’m sure you’ll recognise her intelligence, and her character. _I_ recognise it, and I’ve only known her for two days! I think you owe her the chance to have her say about this.’

By the time Miss Josephine is done speaking, Marilla has to fight against a dampness gather in her eyes. She understands it now.

‘I’ve been unfair to her,’ she admits, nodding her head once, finally convinced.

Miss Barry places a hand on her forearm in encouragement.

‘Well, my dear, what are you waiting for? She’s leaving in half an hour!’

Oh. True.

She has to stop Muriel leaving, or she doesn’t think she could face her back in Avonlea. Marilla gets up from the table with a quick but genuine ‘thank you’ to her advisor. Once she’s almost out of the door, Miss Barry stops her.

‘Oh, and, Marilla!’

Marilla turns her way.

‘Please forgive Anne if she went about this the wrong way. Gertie and I’s story might have filled her with ideals on true love no matter who it’s for, but I take responsibility for not letting her know that not everyone arrives to it in the same way. She just wants to see you happy.’

Marilla nods and she hurries out.

* * *

Of all the people Muriel expects to find outside her room when she heard a knock, Marilla is the last. She thought perhaps the one good side to last night, however humiliating it was that Marilla had left her like that on the dancefloor, and that she hadn’t replied to her note, and that she hadn’t spoken at breakfast, was that at least it would mean she wouldn’t try to stop her when she left. At least she could leave with her dignity intact.

Well, she was wrong, because here Marilla is, red eyes and tight smile.

‘Hello.’

Muriel is tempted to close the door, but even like this, even after everything, she can’t bring herself to me rude to Marilla. So, she steps aside and she lets her in, but she says nothing. Her muscles remember this dance, from all the times they did it on Marilla’s weekly visits to her cottage, yet she feels none of the giddiness it used to come with it.

She closes the door behind her, and faces Marilla, who is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. What’s worse about this whole thing, is that Muriel still thinks Marilla looks beautiful in the morning light, she still wants to take Marilla’s hand into hers and stop them from fidgeting. She doesn’t. She just stands there, just like Marilla is standing there, and she does nothing to send her away, but she doesn’t do anything to encourage her either.

Eventually, Marilla does speak.

‘I suppose I owe you an apology.’

Muriel wants to hug her right now, wants to say that it is _her_ who owes Marilla an apology.

Instead, she says: ‘Really? I see no reason why.’

‘I’ve come to realise I wasn’t fair to you,’ explains Marilla, though as an explanation it doesn’t manage to make much clearer.

Muriel just looks at her in silence, and hopes that will draw more out of Marilla.

‘Last night, I assumed…’ starts Marilla, but then she interrupts herself. ‘No, that’s not what I wanted to say first.’ She takes a deep breath and she begins again. ‘I’ve just had an illuminating talk with Miss Barry.’

‘Really?’

‘She said… She said I should give you a chance to have your say on…’ she gestures vaguely at the physical space separating them, ‘…This. And well… I agree. But first, I think it is only right that I let you know… Well. I am not proud of how I acted last night. I _am_ mainly here to apologise. And to explain myself.’

There is a longer pause, but Muriel doesn’t cut in. She can see Marilla is trying to say something, and she’s decided she’ll let her.

‘I scared myself last night. I realised I have been misleading you.’

Muriel does not understand. ‘Misleading me?’

Marilla nods, her eyes are filling with unfallen tears, and she struggles to speak. ‘I care for your friendship more than I care about most things in this world,’ she says, in such a small voice, for such a strong soul, ‘but I have led you and myself to believe the reason I spend time with you is simple friendship.’ Her voice is trembling when she concludes: ‘Believe me, I do not feel any simple way at all about you. So, I am sorry if I took the easy way out. If I struggle to speak my feelings for you, it is because they are too big, not too little.’

In that moment, Muriel is petrified by the quantity of emotions coming her way. Joy, adoration, relief, so much pride in this woman, doing what Muriel never thought she’d do. Above all, love.

It is only when Marilla makes a stop towards the door, and says ‘I apologise if I have offended you’, that Muriel realises her silence is being taken for indifference.

‘No!’ is all she can say to stop Marilla leaving, as she grabs her hand, not really thinking about it, just needing to know she’s holding on to her.

If Marilla has been fighting against tears until now, Muriel has lost her fight entirely, as she feels stripes of wetness fall along her cheeks.

‘You did not offend me,’ she shakes her head.

Muriel’s cheeks start hurting from how hard she’s been smiling, and she can’t hold it in anymore. She has to say it.

‘I love you.’

Now it is Marilla who is looking at her speechless.

‘I didn’t know I did until last night,’ continues Muriel, ‘but I do. I have for a very long time.’

She sees the realisation dawn on Marilla’s face. Then she doesn’t see it anymore, because suddenly Marilla’s face is buried on Muriel’s shoulder, and her one free arm is around Muriel, holding her like she might be made of pure light and might slip away at an instant. Muriel’s hand is still holding Marilla’s other hand, and she sinks into the embrace, tentatively placing her free palm on Marilla’s back.

‘May I kiss you?’ Muriel whispers into Marilla’s hair.

Like that, their intertwined hands finally separate, and Muriel feels the absence instantly. It doesn’t last long, because Marilla’s hand is now on her cheek, their noses almost touching, and Marilla is nodding her head, and whispering a ‘yes’ back to her.

It takes Muriel no more than that to close the space between their lips.

It’s quick, and sweet, and feels precisely like Muriel imagined it. She didn’t realise until now that she had imagined it.

Then, it happens again. Muriel thinks it’s Marilla that kisses her now, but she wouldn’t be able to tell. She’s not sure how, but they end up with Marilla’s back leaning on the door, both of her hands now on Muriel’s face.

It happens again, and again, and Muriel wishes it could keep happening until the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go! we're almost at the end of the story, but not quite there yet, so don't leave quite yet...
> 
> fun fact, i originally wrote this in one huge document, so every time i post these i am terrified ill either post things twice, or like. miss chunks. do let me know if that happens please lol  
> again, thank you so much for the kind comments. they do mean a huge lot to me, so feel free to keep them coming!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter that warranted this fic its rating, so be aware of that. if you would like to skip the mature material, you can still read the first two sections, and then jump to tomorrow's epilogue

They do end up leaving that morning. It is Marilla that suggests it, with the feeling of kisses still on her lips. There’s no reason she should have suggested it, really. It’s entirely unpractical, none of her things are packed, they’ve missed the train Muriel intended to take, and they have no idea when the next one is going to come.

Yet, as soon as Muriel stopped kissing her, and moved away, looking silently into her eyes, Marilla knew she wanted to be home. She wanted them to be in their own spaces, able to face this change together, just the two of them. She wanted to see if something remained of the snow they left behind in Avonlea, or if it has melted in yesterday’s sun. She wanted to make sure everything is still in place, when her whole world has turned while she was away.

Muriel says yes immediately, looking at Marilla like she would say yes to anything she asked. They move into Marilla’s room and start packing her few things. They do it quickly, and their usual orbiting dance is no different than it used to be, really. It truly is peculiar, how everything has changed, and yet so little has. They just move around each other like they always have. They exchange secret looks like they always have. Except now, the looks are not secret, they’re open, and shameless, and they often come with soft, mindless touches.

When they are done, they walk downstairs and announce they’re leaving.

‘Both of you?’ asks Miss Barry. ‘I hope not because of a fault in my manners…’ she adds, looking like she knows precisely why that’s not the case. Marilla doesn’t know if it is infuriating, or charming.

‘Not at all,’ she replies, ‘We just realised we needed some rest after last night.’ That should work as an excuse.

‘Very well,’ Miss Barry puts her hands to the sides of Marilla’s harms, and gently pulls her close into a hug, ‘I hope you enjoy your resting,’ she adds, in a tone Marilla doesn’t really understand.

Then, Miss Josephine embraces Muriel and says: ‘Goodbye, my dear, such a pleasure to have met you.’ When she lets her go, she adds: ‘Please come back whenever you’d like.’

Anne comes running down the stairs, hair all tussled by her nap, proclaiming: ‘Please don’t tell me you’re both going so soon!’

She launches herself into a hug to Muriel, who confirms the girl’s assumption. ‘We are, dear. But we will see each other soon, won’t we?’

Anne nods into the hug, and Marilla can barely hear what she’s whispering, but it sounds like she’s telling Muriel: ‘At least you’re leaving together.’

From the way Muriel smiles and holds the girl that much tighter, Marilla’s understanding was right. Anne lets Muriel go, and moves on to crush Marilla into a hug.

‘See you soon?’ she simply asks her.

‘See you soon,’ Marilla replies.

Then, they’re off to the station. Once they’re there they check the timetable, and find that the next train is in almost an hour. They find a bench, and sit there in silence, the sides of their arms touching. Marilla wonders what they must look like, sat there with identical grins plastered on their faces, to the people coming and going in the station.

She starts worrying they’ll know. She knows there is no reason to worry, they are not acting any different than two long-time friends might. But the change feels so huge to her, that it seems impossible for it to be invisible to the people around her. Her breath gets shallower and quicker, and she glances to Muriel, hoping to communicate her worries. The other woman simply crosses a hand over her own chest, to go and place it on Marilla’s arm. She runs her thumb in small movements over Marilla’s sleeve. Marilla can feel the ebb and flow of Muriel’s breathing, and soon her own starts synchronising with it, and she feels calmer.

When the train comes, they board it. Some divinity somewhere must be blessing them, because by some miracle they find a completely empty carriage. They sit next to each other, and, to her surprise, Muriel rests her head on her shoulder. It is not an unwelcome development. Marilla holds her hand out, discreetly, and Muriel’s soon envelops it.

Muriel tells her about Anne’s visit to her last night, about how ‘that girl of yours… She puts us all to shame when it comes to caring…’

‘And when it comes to sticking her nose in other people’s business,’ jokes Marilla.

She’s not angry, though. How could she, when Anne’s meddling led her to this blessed moment. She starts telling Muriel all about her talk with Miss Barry, and how and where Anne might have gotten the idea to… gently nudge them towards each other.

She tells her what she learnt about Josephine Barry and her love. At the mention of Gertrude, Muriel perks up.

‘Gertrude… Is that…? I found a book of poems in your room, with a dedication to someone called Gertie,’ she explains.

‘That would be her,’ Marilla responds.

‘That does explain a lot…’ muses Muriel, her head going back to its resting place on Marilla’s shoulder. ‘They were beautiful poems… I should like to read them to you one day.’

‘I’d love nothing more,’ says Marilla. That word, _love_ , forms a knot in her throat. She concentrates on the changing landscape outside the window.

After a short silence, Muriel speaks again. ‘Does that mean Miss Barry knew before we did?’ she asks, with a chuckle.

‘And Anne!’ replies Marilla.

Muriel’s chuckle turns into a soft laugh, and Marilla looks down at her with a raised eyebrow.

‘What is it?’

Muriel looks up to her. ‘Nothing… We must have been the last two people in that house to know.’

* * *

They arrive at Muriel’s house worn out from walking all the way from the station. Because of their change of plan, Matthew didn’t know they were coming today, so he wasn’t there waiting for Marilla with the carriage. Muriel, whose house is closer, proposed they both stop at hers for dinner. Not that there’s anything much to eat, with her having been out of the house.

The sun has almost completely drowned into the horizon when they walk into the house. They leave their suitcases at the door, eager to get to the kitchen. Muriel digs out some legumes and carrots from her pantry. Those should be enough for a soup, at least. They get cooking, which mostly entails Marilla bossing Muriel around her own kitchen. Not that she minds. From what she’s seen, Marilla’s culinary abilities far exceed her own.

After the third time her hand gets swatted away from grabbing a spoon and helping, Muriel concludes she should just sit back and wait for dinner to be ready, only intervening when Marilla doesn’t know where to find something. It’s amusing, seeing her so in her element one moment, and then, the next, entirely unsure what to do, just because she doesn’t know where the knives are kept.

‘In the second drawer…’ tells her Muriel with a chortle.

Marilla reaches into the drawer, and extracts the largest knife Muriel owns from it.

‘I don’t see what’s funny about knives,’ Marilla says, getting to cutting the carrots into small pieces. Muriel is endeared by the way her brow furrows as she does so.

‘Nothing…’ she replies, playing innocent, ‘If anything I should be scared of you coming into my kitchen and looking at me like that with a knife in your hand.’ She cannot stop herself smiling in amusement.

‘You’ll be scared alright, if you don’t stop making fun of me, woman,’ replies Marilla, playing along.

‘I’m not making fun of you.’

This is nice, this banter between them. It’s not different than it used to be, just… It feels exciting to be talking like this, and know that they’re on the same page about what it means.

‘Oh, you’re not making fun of me? Then what, pray tell, is that silly grin on your face?’ She says the word _silly_ with dramatic emphasis, and Muriel wants nothing more than to be called silly for the rest of her days.

‘I’m smiling cause I’m happy. Is that allowed?’

Marilla turns to her, and leaves the food to the side for a moment. She looks worried.

‘Are you sure?’

Muriel doesn’t understand. ‘Am I sure that I’m happy?’

Marilla closes her eyes for the duration of a breath, then looks back at her like this is serious.

‘Are you sure about this.’

Muriel holds out a hand, and it takes a moment for Marilla to take it. When she does, Muriel leads Marilla’s hands to her lips and places a light kiss on Marilla’s knuckles. Then she gently pulls on Marilla’s arm, until she’s low enough for Muriel to be able to kiss her from her seat. It’s the first time they’ve done this since this morning back in Charlottetown, and it’s quiet, calm, long.

‘How’s that for sure?’ Muriel asks when they break apart, not letting go of Marilla’s gaze.

Marilla’s back upright, and she smiles briefly down at Muriel.

‘Good.’

Then, she’s back to cutting carrots.

The soup takes longer to cook than Muriel expected, but it’s delicious and hearty, and just what they needed after a long, cold journey. Muriel thinks she must have thanked Marilla at least five times since they’ve started eating, much to the entertainment of the older woman, who seems to find it funnier with each time she is met with such gratitude for what she sees as a simple and practical dish. By the time they’re done eating the sun has set entirely.

‘I should go,’ says Marilla, while she dries the dishes that Muriel is washing.

‘How?’ asks Muriel, scrubbing a bowl, ‘it’s dark outside.’

‘I can walk no problem.’

Muriel sees the other woman’s shrug reflected on the windowpane over the kitchen sink.

‘You’ll freeze to death!’

‘Fiddlesticks!’ replies Marilla in her dismissive expression. ‘I’ve faced weather much worse than this!’

In the face of such stubbornness, Muriel puts down the spoon she’s been washing and turns her hear to face the woman standing next to her.

‘Please don’t. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.’

Marilla sighs, she takes the spoon and rubs it dry with the towel in her hand.

‘What do you suggest I do, then?’

‘Stay?’

Muriel knows it’s a lot to ask. She turns back to the dishes, preparing for a negative response.

Instead, Marilla says: ‘I suppose Matthew isn’t expecting me back until tomorrow, so he wouldn’t get worried either way.’

‘Alright,’ says Muriel, already making a mental inventory of things she can do to make Marilla more comfortable. ‘Once we’re finished here, I’ll bring my things downstairs, then.’

‘And whatever would you need to do that for?’ asks matter-of-factly Marilla.

‘So I can sleep down here and leave you the bed.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Muriel. I’m sure there’s enough space in your bed for the both of us,’ replies Marilla, taking the last piece of cutlery from Muriel’s hands with nonchalance.

* * *

Marilla must have come to Muriel’s house tens of times in the past months. She is entirely familiar with the warm chaoticness of the rooms downstairs. She knows the little paint decorations on the wall by heart, and she’s aware of which corners she’s not really supposed to look at, because that’s where Muriel has relegated whatever contraption she’s been tinkering with. But, in all this time, she’s never walked up the staircase and into Muriel’s bedroom.

Muriel leads her upstairs looking more nervous than she has all night.

‘It’s not much,’ she says when they walk into the room, almost apologising for it.

It is indeed quite sparse: a small light wood closet, a chest of drawers with a basin and mirror on top of it, a bed, covered in white linen, and a woollen blanket. Marilla notices a wide window, which must let in plenty of sunlight during the day. Light curtains, embroidered with small white flowers, hang on its sides.

‘It’s more than enough,’ she reassures. And she believes it.

The only thing adorning the walls is piece of fabric, with some lettering and a few decorative images stitched on it. It’s not perfectly crafted, but it does add some cheer. _“Dreamers change the world”._

‘Anne made me that when she left’, explains Muriel when she notices Marilla looking.

‘That would explain the… interesting craftsmanship,’ jokes Marilla.

‘I like to look at it in the mornings. It reminds me there was at least one person in this town who thought I was worth looking up to from the very beginning.’

‘I always thought you were worth so much more than how this town treated you…’ the words spill out of Marilla’s mouth, before she can stop them. Then, she remembers there is no reason why she should stop them, not anymore. She looks at Muriel, who is looking at her, and she adds: ‘I always looked up to you, from the very first day. I always thought you were incredible.’

She realises as she says it that it’s true. From the first time she met her, downstairs, in this very house, Marilla was fascinated by Muriel. The things she does, the way she is. She takes hold of the other woman’s hand. ‘I always say Anne was sent to change my life. I think you were too,’ Marilla concludes.

When she says that, Muriel takes a step towards her, and plants a kiss on her lips, hands tenderly placed on each side of her face. It still feels unexpected, every time she does that. Marilla chooses to let the surprise feed her.

When she lets go of her, lips red and cheeks flushed, Muriel says: ‘Let’s see if I can find you something to sleep in.’

She walks away from Marilla and starts rummaging in her drawer, and takes out a simple white nightgown. Marilla takes it, and starts getting ready for bed.

* * *

When Muriel realises Marilla has started unbuttoning her shirt, she thinks maybe she shouldn’t be looking. She turns around, and says: ‘I can leave, if you want.’

Marilla places a hand on her shoulder, and gently guides her round back to facing her.

‘No need to leave,’ she says.

She guides Muriel’s hand to her half-unbuttoned blouse, and holds it there until Muriel realises Marilla wants her to finish unbuttoning it.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks.

Marilla keeps her hand on top of Muriel’s at the edge of her semi-open shirt, and leans in to kiss her with unexpected courage.

‘How’s that for sure?’ Marilla echoes Muriel’s earlier challenge with a smirk.

With the renewed sureness of reciprocity, Muriel plunges in for another kiss, and her hands swiftly get unbuttoning. She quickly takes the hem of Marilla’s shirt out of her skirt. Then, she moves on to undo her belt, which is now free to fall on the floor, with a clank of the buckle, which hits Muriel’s toes on it’s way down.

‘Ouch,’ she says with her mouth against Marilla’s, cursing herself for letting the belt fall. They both laugh into their kiss.

Soon, Marilla lets her shirt fall next to the belt, and she undoes the top two buttons of Muriel’s own blouse. Muriel runs her fingers along the trim of Marilla’s chemise, and places a kiss on her now bared collarbone. Then, she lets a hand rest on the swell of her breast. She keeps her eyes on Marilla’s face, conscious of her expression at all times. When Muriel’s fingers brush against the peak of her breast, Marilla’s eyes close, and she takes in a sharp breath.

Then, her eyes are open again, and there’s a look in them that takes Muriel’s breath away when Marilla kisses her once more. She unbuttons one more eyelet on Muriel’s shirt. Impatiently, Muriel breaks the kiss to slide out of her shirt without having to wait until it’s opened all the way down. When she realises her lack of corset and chemise have left her far more exposed than Marilla is, it is too late to feel ashamed. Besides, the adoration in the way she’s being looked at by Marilla, whose breath has caught in her chest, makes her feel anything but shame.

‘May I?’ asks Marilla, waiting for Muriel’s nodded assent before touching her breasts. Her first, tentative touch, is already enough for Muriel to let out a sigh. As soon as she does, Marilla retracts her hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘I have rough hands.’

It takes a moment for a confused Muriel to understand her sigh of delight has been taken for one on displeasure. She takes Marilla’s hand in hers. It’s true, it shows the signs of hard work. That only makes Muriel love that hand, and Marilla, more. For the second time today, she kisses Marilla’s hand. This time, she doesn’t limit herself to her knuckles. She places her lips on the open hand, and leaves a kiss on the her calloused palm.

Then, she guides her hand back to her own chest.

‘You have perfect hands,’ she whispers, as Marilla looks at her, reassured, and cups her breast again, with more pressure this time.

Muriel starts fumbling with the opening of Marilla’s corset, but, without seeing what they’re doing, her hands have to give up halfway through.

‘Let me do it,’ says Marilla, shaking her head with a smile, and undoes it with an efficiency Muriel can only dream of.

Once the corset has joined the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor, Muriel goes in to kiss Marilla once again. It is slow, and languid, and gives both of them the chance to get their bearings. Muriel moves her hands to Marilla’s hair, and carefully undoes her bun, which had, until now, stayed miraculously tidy.

The sight of Marilla’s hair falling down, the white in it shining in the light of the gas lamp, stops Muriel on her tracks. In this moment, it all becomes real. Marilla Cuthbert is really standing in front of her in her chemise, with her hair down, waiting for her next move like it’s going to change her life.

Muriel moves Marilla’s hair aside, and leaves a trail of kisses on her neck, tracing the pattern of Marilla’s freckles with her lips. Gently, she moves them around, so that Marilla can prop herself up against the wall.

Except, on her way there, caught up in the way Marilla looks when she kisses her like this, Muriel hits her hip on the corner of the still open drawer. She finches as soon as she feels the pain on her side. Thankfully, Marilla doesn’t seem to be put off by the clumsiness, going by her endeared smile. If anything, she looks mildly concerned for both of their safety.

‘Bed, I think,’ she declares. Muriel is happy to comply.

Losing skirts, stockings, and undergarments on their way, they find themselves bare on the bed. Muriel holds herself up on her arm to look at Marilla, who is blushing with her back against the sheets. If her cheeks are red with modesty, though, her eyes are free of shame. Her gaze never lets Muriel’s go, as she raises her hand to tenderly stroke her face. Muriel lets her cheek sink into the caress, closing her eyes for an instant.

When she opens them again, Marilla somehow manages to look even more beautiful than before. Overcome with a wave of pure adoration, Muriel dips her head down to kiss Marilla, and lets her hand wander down to her breast again, this time finding it free of any fabric covering it. Her mouth moves down as well, dutifully following the slope of Marilla’s neck down to her chest. She places a kiss between her breasts, then climbs back up to Marilla’s lips as her hand travels further down to her belly. She caresses the softness under her ribcage with utmost care, then stops right past her belly button.

She looks Marilla in the eyes. The other woman rests her lips on Muriel’s shoulder, and whispers a ‘please… yes’ against it.

Muriel moves her hand down, and as soon as her fingers dip into the curls between her legs, Marilla lets out a quiet, restrained moan. Muriel kisses it out of her, until Marilla lets her breath come out low and resounding.

When Muriel sees a movement of her hand causes Marilla’s back to arch, her head to sink back into the pillow, she repeats the movement just the same. The expression alone on Marilla’s face as she does causes a sigh to come out of Muriel’s lips, the ache between her own legs intensifying.

Marilla grips Muriel’s hip with her hand, right above where Muriel has hurt herself before, almost like she needs steadying. And she does, as she is soon tensing under Muriel’s touch, eyes shut and mouth open, looking like Muriel’s most perfect dreams. As Muriel holds her close, Marilla lets herself go.

Afterwards, when Marilla has regained breath, and she has thoroughly kissed her, Muriel reaches to her bedside table to turn the lamp off, wishing she could just flip a switch like in Charlottetown. Then, she covers both of them with a blanket, and drapes her arm over Marilla’s belly.

Laying there, holding the woman she loves, Muriel is overcome by a devotion like she never has felt in her life. She feels her affection for the woman in her bed as if it were new in her chest, born the moment the light went off, and there until there is no light left in the universe to turn off.

She places a kiss on Marilla’s shoulder, and is met in return with a kiss on top of her head.

With her face still hidden in Muriel’s hair, for the very first time Marilla whispers ‘I love you’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done, gang! I guess I could finish it right there, but there will be a short epilogue coming tomorrow, just cause I can never leave things alone when they need to be left.
> 
> this chapter was one where i really had to push myself out of my comfort zone as a writer, and i hope i did it justice. i'd love to hear your thoughts!


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not posting this yesterday! i realised that what i had written originally was too short, and not really how i wanted to leave this whole thing. so, i decided to go back to it and improve it before posting it.
> 
> sorta kinda to make up for the late update, and sorta kinda as an extra treat, i decided to post the playlist i made for this, which you can find on my tumblr (lesbianmoomin) in the muriel x marilla tag. i just can't leave this story alone, can i?

Marilla wakes up in Muriel’s bed, and she finds it doesn’t surprise her at all. Everything is just like she imagined it last night. The bedsheets are just as soft as she thought, and the window does indeed let so much light. So much that she can’t even open her eyes properly, and for once she allows herself to just be in bed, half asleep half relishing in the perfect grace of this moment.

She can feel the oscillation of Muriel’s breath on her shoulder, and she can smell a faint scent of wildflowers on her hair. Her arm is still clinging around Marilla’s waist, with the tender inertia of slumber. This, too, is just like Marilla imagined it. And she did imagine it, she realises, more times than she would have admitted mere hours ago.

The Barry mansion in Charlottetown is so far away now. Yet, it was only last morning that she woke up there, feeling alone, and confused, and wanting to leave. She is grateful now, for that house and for the people in it. For having travelled there, and having been changed by it. Or maybe simply having uncovered what was always there. For the ballroom, and the flowers, and the dazzling electric lights. And even for the heartbreak of that night.

She is grateful for it all, because it brought her here, to these soft sheets and the soft breath on her shoulder.

Soon she will have to move.

Soon, she will get up, trying her best not to wake up Muriel. She will put on the clean-smelling nightgown she never got to wear last night, and she will tiptoe downstairs. She will feel restless, and she won’t know what to do, so she will get the oven going, find some flour, and start making some scones.

Muriel will emerge from upstairs looking for her, confused, and a little bit scared. She will be reassured by the warm smell coming from the kitchen, and her face will bloom into a sleepy smile when she sees Marilla. They will have breakfast, and spend some time talking, and then it will be time for lunch, so they will have that too.

Marilla will have to go, aware that Matthew is expecting her. That evening, Muriel will visit her. ‘I just wanted to see you’, she will say, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is, to Marilla, it is.

The next day, it will be Marilla that visits the schoolteacher. And the next day, and the next.

Christmas will come, and the new year, and very seldom a day will pass that they don’t see each other. They will kiss, they will make love, they will talk for hours.

Marilla will stay over at Muriel’s sometimes. After a while, Anne will take to heading straight to her former teacher’s when she comes back to Avonlea, knowing that’s where she’ll find Marilla.

There will come a time when Marilla will be certain that Anne knows about her and Muriel. That _surely_ she must know by now. She knew before anyone else, really, Marilla will think, she probably doesn’t even need to be told. But Marilla will know that Anne deserves an act of open trust. So, one day, Anne will be visiting, and they will be at Muriel’s, and the teacher will be in another room, digging out a book Anne asked for. And on that day, in Muriel’s home, Marilla will tell Anne. Anne will cry out in excitement, and hold Marilla so tightly she will she is about to stop breathing. Then, when Muriel comes back into the room, the girl will hold her too.

The seasons will change, Spring will bring rain and flowers, Summer sunshine and hard work. Muriel will come to Green Gables to help with the harvest over school holidays. Next winter, they will visit Charlottetown for Josephine Barry’s party. This time, they will stay downstairs all night, and then retire to the same room, exhausted and ecstatic. They will leave the next day, and Muriel will take the book of Emily Dickinson’s poems with her, at Miss Barry’s insistence.

The following spring, on a clear and bright day after they’ve seen Anne off to the station, Matthew will ask to talk to Marilla. He will have a terrorised look on his face, but he will speak anyway, and Marilla will be very proud of him for it. He will talk of how glad he is that Muriel joined them for lunch with Anne, earlier that day. How glad he is that she joins them for almost every other meal, too. Marilla will say that she worried Matthew wouldn’t like being forced to be in the company of a stranger that much. ‘Muriel’s not a stranger, is she?’ he will say, ‘She’s family by now’. Then, after a pause, he will add: ‘We are getting old, Marilla.’ Marilla will scoff at the _“getting”._ Matthew will ignore her and continue: ‘I think you deserve happiness. I’m glad to see you’ve found it.’ He will never say anything more, or mention it again, but Marilla will understand what he meant, like she always has.

That night, she will tell Muriel about her talk with Matthew, and, later, she will always remember it as a blessed day.

There will be more blessed days, more than Marilla will be able to count. All of them will be with Muriel. People around Avonlea will get used to seeing them together all the time: out to the shops, in church, or simply on a walk. They will go on so many walks. Alone, mostly. Sometimes they will take little Delphine with them, who will grow up knowing them as her favourite ‘aunts’. They will dodge oh so much of Rachel’s well-intentioned nosiness, and love her all the more for it.

Yes, soon Marilla will have to move.

But for now, she has no idea what will come. She is happy just lying here, next to Muriel, in the perfect, unmoving, half-asleep rapture of loving and being loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, so... that's it! ngl, i'm quite sad to leave this one. it was very soothing to write it in this stressful time, and sharing it was a lovely, encouraging experience, so thank you to all those who made it such.
> 
> i cannot stress enough how much your comments have meant for me. publishing this really taught me how much difference a kind comment can make, especially for a ship this tiny. like, in the past i always felt like i was the only person on earth interested in this relationship... finding that it wasn't the case really encouraged me to create more for them so like. i hope i don't sound preachy, but i've learnt that if you want more content for a rarepair, leaving a comment showing you appreciate the work will get you so, so far.
> 
> so, again, thank you wholeheartedly to all who read and to all who spent time and energy commenting. you all made this week amazing!

**Author's Note:**

> there you go. thank you so much for reading this first chapter.
> 
> comments are always appreciated, especially since this is such a small ship, and it can sometimes feel like i'm shouting into the void. also, i'm not a native english speaker, so please keep that in mind and be kind with my work.


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